In Such a State
by 9mm Meg
Summary: Alfred is just after a Christmas present for his little sister, but when he finds a life-sized, broken doll outside a shop and takes him home, he gets quite a bit more than he bargained for. Victorian!AU, for LJ USUK Secret Santa
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This was done for the USUK Secret Santa Exchange over on LJ, so the prompt credit belongs entirely to seraphic_dream.

Enjoy!

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><p>In all the many months that he'd had his shop next door to that <em>hideous<em> abandoned building, Francis Bonnefoy had heard his fair share of curious noises, seen lights flare up in the same upstairs window at all hours of the night… But he'd thought nothing of it because, naturally, these things tend to happen with abandoned buildings, and so far nothing had really disturbed the peace in his flat above the shop or disturbed his patrons downstairs in it.

Until today, of course.

_**BANG**_

Francis didn't so much notice that he'd jumped… He was more concerned with how his thin brush slid smoothly down the face of his latest project, leaving a solid black line from eyelashes to lips across the doll's cheek.

It took a moment for him to understand what had just happened, but once he did, it only took another moment for him to pull on his coat, lock the door of the shop, and slip through the poorly barricaded entrance next door with a wrought-iron poker from his hearth in one hand and his largest set of sewing shears in the other. He could tolerate the random late-night goings on of whoever the hooligans or homeless were that snuck in so frequently, but to cause such a ruckus in the late afternoon while he was working (and ruin the beautiful face of one of his dolls) was absolutely inexcusable.

Only once Francis was in and creeping up the stairs did he think of calling for a constable, but he supposed that it was a bit late for that—and the loud crash of an old faded portrait hitting the stairs after he'd accidentally bumped it with the poker cemented that fact. He cringed, waiting for some sign that the intruder had heard it, but after what felt like hours, the building remained silent. With a deep breath, he tiptoed up the remaining steps and down the corridor.

There was only one open door. It was the furthest down the hall, and, he realized, led to the room that faced his shop next door, the one with the window that would light up with strange colors from time to time. In fact, there was a faint light flickering now, and when Francis cautiously poked his head in the room, he saw that it was the only lit candle of several arranged in a circle on the floor. Some were still smoking, only recently extinguished, and others were toppled over with pools of hardening wax beneath them.

But more importantly, there were two figures facedown on the floor in the middle of them all, unmoving.

His first instinct was to run, to fetch the police and let them handle this, but one of them appeared to be a child, just a toddler, and Francis found himself rushing forward to kneel down and aid the poor dear. He feared the worst when his hands met ice-cold fabric and gently turned the infant over, but he was surprised to find a porcelain doll, and one of his own by the look of her. Curious…

He immediately turned his attention to the adult victim, pulling back the hood of a thick cloak and reaching to feel for a pulse, but he was shocked when his fingers met with more cool porcelain. _Both _were dolls?

Francis leaned back on his heels, puzzled at the scene before him. The little girl he remembered selling… last week, was it? He couldn't recall who had bought her—Christmas season was always so busy, and he'd sold so many dolls that day—but he definitely couldn't remember selling one of his beautiful, adult-sized dolls anytime very recently, and certainly not one of the male ones, as this one was. They were pricey, and it was rare that someone could afford to buy their child's enormous doll a matching beau as well.

A glance around didn't reveal the troublemaker anywhere in sight, so, still confused, Francis gathered up his makeshift weapons and dolls and returned to his shop.

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><p>Later, after a quick examination of both dolls under adequate lighting, it was discovered that the mysterious male doll hadn't been made by Francis at all… It was missing its maker's mark, was dressed bizarrely (cloaked, though wearing an expensive-looking suit beneath), and, most telling of all, had eyebrows the likes of which Francis would never in his darkest nightmares think of painting on <em>any<em> doll, _ever_.

So without a second thought, the doll was deposited on top of the rubbish heap in the alley, and Francis banished it from his mind for good.

Had he taken a last look at it, however, he would have noticed the slow, groggy way it blinked its glass eyes, let out a groan, and brought a hand up to its face—

And then he would've seen the enormous unfinished vase (tossed towards the bin from the back door of the potter's shop) collide with its head, shattering spectacularly, and leaving the doll slumped against the brick wall.

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><p>Christmas, Alfred decided, was absolutely the best time of the year. The presents, the food, the family time, the presents, the decorations, the carols, the presents… He ignored the odd looks he received as he hurried down the street, grinning from ear to ear. At the worst of times, he was a cheerful person, but today, nothing was going to darken his blindingly sunny disposition. (Not even the lack of sun. Cloudy London, as usual…)<p>

He scanned the storefronts and signs, and finally, he spotted the one he was after… _Bonnefoy's Fine Porcelain Dolls_, the sign read, and he hurried in the door, excitement building.

There was a called, _Good afternoon to you,_ mon ami, from somewhere in the back of the shop, and Alfred caught a glimpse of who was presumably the owner coming through the back door and waved—but then his attention was caught by the window display of gorgeously-detailed life-size dolls. They were perfect… exactly like the ones Madeleine had described to him (after much, _much_ persuasion—his six-year-old sister had insisted time after time that she wanted nothing more for Christmas than to come home from her school across the channel and spend the holidays with him, but Alfred had refused to take _no _for an answer).

And now to pick one… Alfred adjusted his glasses and scanned the faces and frilly dresses, looking for something that would suit her, and after a moment, his gaze settled on a blond doll with wide, green eyes and a thin ribbon tied in its hair. It was nothing too fancy, he noticed, comparing it to the surrounding dolls covered in lace with painted-on rouge and stained lips, and… perhaps that was best. It wouldn't do to have Madeleine develop some complex and grow up with a skewed mental image of how a proper lady should present herse—

"For your little girl, _monsieur_…?"

Alfred jumped at the sudden voice and turned to find the shopkeeper _very_ close behind him, long pale locks tied back with a ribbon and blue eyes glinting interestedly.

"J-Jones. It's a-actually for my sister," he stammered, unnerved by the way he'd been snuck-up-on, and the way the man showed no signs of backing off. Even now, he was being studied closely.

"Of course," Bonnefoy (he assumed this was Bonnefoy—it was his shop, right?) said after a moment. "I see now that you are still young, _non_? Too young for children, much less marriage, I'm sure…"

There was a pause, and Alfred realized he was waiting for some sort of answer, so he cleared his throat and mumbled, "Twenty-one isn't _that_ young."

Bonnefoy's smile widened, but his eyes narrowed, and Alfred took a step back. Thankfully, that seemed to send the shopkeeper some sort of message, because he switched subjects, asking, "And your darling sister, how old is she? I'm sure to have the perfect doll for her."

"Six." Alfred held out his open pocket watch, showing Bonnefoy the small portrait he kept of Madeleine in it.

"Ah! _Quelle belle enfant!_ Yes, I've got some precious _bebes_ here that she would adore… Although you seem quite taken with this _petite fille_." He gestured to the doll Alfred had been considering a moment ago.

Alfred nodded. "She asked for one of the big dolls, actually… And I think she'll like this one alright."

"And you would know her best, of course. I call this one Lily, although your lovely sister will no doubt find a name that suits her. Now!"

Bonnefoy clapped his hands, then started pulling dozens of items from the shelves—dresses, shoes, hats, fur stoles, parasols, gloves—and piling them up in Alfred's arms.

"She will need plenty of accessories for playtime, perhaps a trunk for storage… And oh! What of another playmate? I have several male companion dolls—" he pointed to a row of gentlemanly-looking figures along the wall "—perfect for a pretend wedding, you know."

He pulled one down that looked suspiciously like himself, down to the pale blue ribbon holding back its hair and the not-entirely chivalrous smirk on its face.

"I find this one particularly handsome," he said with a wink, and Alfred shuddered. Nevermind Madeleine's concept of a proper lady… there was no way he was risking her idealizing _that_ as the perfect man.

"I think that one matches a little better," he said, pointing to another that was remarkably alike in appearance to 'Lily,' blond and green-eyed… it even had a similar hairstyle.

Bonnefoy grumbled something about a lack of taste, then swept the heap of fabric and fur out of Alfred's hands, tipping it all on the counter and jotting down figures in a ledger—

And Alfred suddenly remembered something very important.

Trying to be inconspicuous, he edged back towards the female doll, still on its shelf, and poked around in the folds of its dress, looking for a price tag—_there_. He flipped over the small card, and then had to retrieve his jaw from the floor after he saw the number written on it.

There was no conceivable way he could afford just the one doll on its own, much less the male and a trunkful of accessories. The realization left him reeling, and he hardly noticed what he was saying as he made some excuse and ducked out of the shop.

Alfred swore under his breath as he wandered into the alley between Bonnefoy's building and the next. After all the planning and the saving, he was still going to let his sister down. And the worst part was that he'd pushed her until she'd finally confessed to wanting one of those ridiculously expensive dolls (not that she would have known that), so now she'd be expecting one… Alfred could just picture the flash of disappointment on her face when she unwrapped something else, something cheaper, but then the smile and, _Thank you, Freddie! It's wonderful! _Sweet, selfless Madeleine…

He was supposed to be making all this up to her… She hadn't wanted to go to the boarding school in France, but he could hardly keep up with their late father's business with no distractions at all, and a live-in governess had been out of the question, so he'd sent her away, just like that. This Christmas was supposed to be an apology, a promise of better times to come if she'd just wait for him to sort everything out, but now he couldn't even manage the one thing she'd asked for.

He cursed again, kicking a broken piece of pottery across the alley and watching it shatter against the wall next to the bin…

Right next to a discarded life-sized doll.

Alfred stared at it for a moment, an idea growing in the back of his mind. He hated himself for what he was considering, but he couldn't shake the mental image of his little sister's disappointed face… He sent wary looks up and down the alley, towards Bonnefoy's back door and the street, then crept over to examine his find.

It was male, with shaggy blond hair and dirty smudges on its face… Its eyes were green, like the doll's had been in the shop, but they seemed so much more vivid, more real-looking than the other's. One of its arms seemed to be dislocated from the joint, judging by the way it hung limply in its sleeve, but he could probably fix that… and its face was really sort of pretty, aside from the surprisingly large eyebrows. Maybe Madeleine could even put dresses on it…

It wasn't perfect, but, fixed up, it would be better than anything else he could afford to get for her.

Alfred set his jaw, took one more glance around, and then gathered it up.

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><p><strong>AN2: **Yes, I went with 'Freddie' instead of 'Al' or 'Alfie.' I just like it so much better. I can't be the only one, right?

Also, my apologies for any fail!French. I don't speak it (Regular!French, that is. I do speak fail!French, but that should be obvious).


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks so much for the reviews and alerts, everyone! Here's Chapter 2, in which Arthur wakes up, and Alfred is Not Prepared. Enjoy!

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><p>The damage wasn't nearly as bad as Alfred had feared, and now, the doll was sitting upright on his desk back at home in his study, stripped of its filthy clothing and broken arm back in its proper position. A dampened rag to its face had taken care of the dirt, and now it looked good as new.<p>

It was really sort of strange, he thought, that Bonnefoy would have thrown it out just for that slight defect… If he could fix it so easily, he was sure the doll maker could've done so himself.

But it didn't matter so much, because now it was his—well, Madeleine's—and it looked fine.

The only thing left was its clothing. The suit could be laundered, and… he'd just, uh, toss out the cloak thing. He didn't need that anyway… sort of a weird thing for a doll to have, really.

And speaking of clothes… Alfred sat down at his desk and pulled out his record books. Now that he didn't have to buy the doll, maybe he could use the money he'd set aside for Christmas on more clothes and whatever else little girls want for their dolls. He let a grin spread over his face again and started running numbers.

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><p>Arthur's head was positively swimming as he came to.<p>

He'd known that something wasn't right as soon as he'd stepped into his chalk circle, but it had been too late to turn back. Though he'd already started the incantation, he'd tried his best to alter it as he chanted and minimize the damage, and now, from what he could tell so far, he was still mostly in one piece.

He blinked a few times, too sore to really move around much (_lord_, how his head hurt), and brought a hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose—

Arthur froze, staring at his neatly jointed, not at _all _human fingers. Human-shaped, yes, but they were hard, cold porcelain… and a glance down confirmed his fears. The rest of him was in a similar state.

It only took a moment to for him to realize what had actually happened, and his thoughts went back to the doll he'd been trying to animate. Of _course_… but how in the world had he reversed it this way?

He didn't have much time to think on it further, though, as he panicked at a sudden voice behind him.

"Nononono, that won't work… I'll have to cut back somewhere else…"

As quick as he could, Arthur took a furtive look around, noting the obvious fact that he wasn't in the same building as before, he was sitting on some sort of desk, and he wasn't alone.

Wait. Was he _naked_?

(It took all of his willpower not to let out a shriek when he caught sight of the quite noticeable lack of _anything_ between his legs—aside from the heartbreakingly blank expanse of porcelain.)

It was a man seated behind him, hunched over and digging through the file cabinet behind the desk, completely unaware that he was conscious. Arthur had no idea how he'd wound up in this situation, but he was certain that he didn't want to stick around to find out. How to escape though…

His kidnapper sat up without any warning, flipping pages in a ledger in his lap, and Arthur decided it was time to make a break for it. He grabbed at his cloak thrown over the edge of the desk and leapt down, only to lose his footing at the odd feeling of his not-flesh feet meeting the rug, and then crashed to the floor.

The man was sure to have heard it, and Arthur was forced into another split-second decision, holding his breath (and realizing for the first time that he actually wasn't breathing at all—but it felt right to hold his nonexistent breath regardless) and lying as still as possible, praying that whoever this was would assume that he'd just fallen off the desk and give him another chance to run as soon as he turned his back again.

He winced at the crash of books meeting the floor on the other side of the desk, and waited, desperately trying not to blink.

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><p>The unexpected noise jerked Alfred out of his number-induced daze and sent his records flying, and he spun around in his chair, breathing hard. He knew he was alone in the house, his housekeeper having gone home for the evening, and a prickle of fear started to sneak in at the edge of his mind. He'd never really come to trust this creepy old house in the year he'd been in it; it wasn't as though he thought his father would haunt him, but he didn't know who or what else could be lurking around waiting to bring about his untimely demise…<p>

It took him a minute, but he finally realized that the doll was missing—though it didn't comfort him in the slightest. He didn't think it could've just fallen off the desk like that on its own, and he shivered to think of what could have knocked it over.

Steeling himself, Alfred took a deep breath and slowly stood from his chair, leaning over the desk in front of him. It was there on the floor, sprawled haphazardly over the rug with that nasty cloak draped over most of its lower half—

And Alfred could've sworn those green, glass eyes flicked back up when his own did. Oh no… oh nonono... His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, but then he remembered his father always telling him to face his fears and be a man... so he gulped and reached down with shaking fingers, stretching himself over the desktop.

_Just a doll, it's just a doll_, he thought over and over, trying to convince himself that the subtly-painted blush on its cheeks wasn't getting darker as he got closer, that its eye hadn't twitched, that it didn't look like it was holding its breath _because dolls don't breathe stop being such a little girl about it!_

He paused, finger hovering above an unmistakably pink porcelain cheek for what felt like an eternity, and then he _touched_ it.

The response was almost immediate, and, to his intense horror, its face twisted into an indignant scowl that Alfred was absolutely _certain_ he was _not_ imagining.

"Mind you watch who you're prodding, you idiot!"

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><p>It certainly wasn't the reaction he'd expected, but Arthur supposed it wasn't such a surprise that the man had run screaming from the room after his little outburst. Dolls don't normally shout, of course, but it had been sort of an automatic reaction after the impolite poke to his face.<p>

Regardless, it had given him the opportunity he'd been waiting for, and he wasted no time in wrapping himself in his cloak and rushing down the hall and staircase towards freedom (pointedly ignoring how he rattled with every step).

It was only once he reached the front door that he realized the true extent of the predicament he was in. As soon as he'd stepped over the threshold, he discovered an unfamiliar street and rows of houses that all looked alike, so he quickly popped back inside and shut the door.

Of course he had to find some way of returning himself to normal, and to do so he'd have to retrieve his books and tools from the abandoned building. But who knew how long it would take for him to work out the proper reversal spell, and, more importantly, how was he to make it there? He had no idea where he was, and he had no money to pay for a hansom… not to mention the fact that he was a _doll_. Who's to say that the first person he came across to ask for directions wouldn't flee in horror as well?

Arthur stood at the door, staring at the handle as he considered his options. He couldn't walk it on his own, he couldn't get a cab, and as much as he did _not_ want to ask for help, he couldn't even manage that without terrorizing the neighborhood or landing himself in some sort of side show attraction.

Reluctantly, his thoughts returned to the owner of the house. Arthur wasn't sure what sort of a man he was, (though the fact that he'd stripped him down and just left him sitting there didn't really speak volumes of his character, in his opinion). He didn't have much choice in the matter, however (and it seemed as though he was more afraid of Arthur than the other way around anyway), so he pulled his cloak a little tighter and wondered where the man might have gone.

The kitchen was empty, and so was the pantry, and the dining room, the sitting room, and every other room he looked into on the first two floors of the house. He was sure he'd at least find a servant or someone about. After all, the house wasn't nearly the size of his family's manor, but it was large enough to employ at least a small staff of two or three, and the guestrooms were dust-free despite looking a bit disused. There was no sign of life, however, until he climbed the stairs to the uppermost level.

The first bedroom he looked into was empty, but furnished for a little girl. There was a pile of stuffed animals on the bed, along with a few baby dolls, and Arthur suddenly wondered if he'd been meant as a gift, what with his being a doll and Christmas being just around the corner. It still didn't answer the question of how he'd been acquired, but when he finally came upon an apparently lived-in master bedroom, it seemed as though he was about to find out.

It was the wardrobe's quivering that gave away its occupant's hiding place, and Arthur hesitantly stepped up to it before knocking on the door.

"Pardon my intrusion," he said politely, but before he could get any further, the wardrobe gave an almighty lurch.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" came the muffled reply from within, and Arthur sighed. Perhaps this would be harder than he'd thought.

"I'm terribly sorry for shouting at you earlier," he started, tone placating, "but I was hoping you might be willing to assist me. I haven't any idea where we are, and I would just like to go back to wherever it was you happened upon me—"

He stopped as the door opened a fraction, and a pair of bright blue eyes behind wire-framed glasses peered out at him suspiciously.

"Oh, hello," Arthur said, attempting a halfway pleasant smile.

The eyes narrowed. "You're just trying to lure me out of here so you can eat me or something."

The accent was American, but what he'd said was so ridiculous that Arthur paid how he'd said it no mind. "Hardly," he snorted. "In fact, I'm not even certain I can eat anything in this state… but that's what I'm trying to fix, you see."

The door opened a bit more, revealing a scowling face that was younger than he'd expected and a head of dark blond hair. "So," he said, and gave Arthur a skeptical look, "you wanna lure me out of here so that I can _help_ you eat me."

"Oh for the love of—" Arthur backed away a few steps, holding up a hand in a gesture of peace (the other was keeping his cloak closed around him, of course) "—there now. I'm all the way over here. My name is Kir—well, Arthur, and I swear to you that I mean you no harm whatsoever. I don't want to be a bother. I just want to leave, but I can't do it without your help. Now will you _please_ come out?"

"You don't wanna eat me?"

"Not in the slightest. And, good lord, it's '_want to_.'"

Finally, he climbed out, knocking a few garments off their hangers with him. He didn't take his hand off of the door, though, and he still eyed Arthur cautiously. "Alfred Jones," he said, then gave him a careful once-over. "What are you anyway?"

"I'm a person, of course," Arthur said irritably. "I just had a… mishap. I mean to correct it, however, so if you wouldn't mind calling a cab or telling me how to get back to wherever it was that you found me…?"

Alfred still didn't look convinced, now crossing his arms. "Mishap? When I tripped and fell down the stairs this morning, _that_ was a mishap. You're a _talking doll_. Explain that one to me."

Clearly this conversation wasn't going to be an easy one. Arthur repressed an automatic sarcastic reply and tossed around a few ideas on how to briefly tell him what had happened without going into too many details, but not coming up with any fantastic ideas. Of course, Alfred wouldn't be versed in any sort of magical theory, so, really, he didn't have to explain himself much. It was just a matter of introducing the topic, and once his reluctant host started to fidget impatiently, Arthur decided it was best to just be out with it.

"I'm a practitioner of certain magical arts," he said, ignoring Alfred's raised brow and disbelieving huff, "and a spell I was attempting went badly wrong somehow, as you can see. I suppose the backfire left me unconscious, and I knew nothing more until I woke up there in your study a few minutes ago."

"You can't be serious."

And that was to be expected, though it didn't lessen Arthur's irritation at all.

"You're right. It was the Queen of the Fae who cast this charm on me, never to return to my mortal form until I find my True Love or some other nonsense," he said scathingly. "Of course I'm serious!"

"But all that magic business isn't real. It's not scientifically possible," Alfred argued.

"And the fact that I'm standing here speaking and made of bloody _china _wouldn't be any evidence to the contrary. None at all."

Alfred frowned and looked down, pulling at a little hole in his shirtsleeve. "So you might have a point there…" He quickly glanced back up, though, saying, "But I'm not totally convinced, just so you know. But, uh… let's say that, hypothetically, if we're acting like this sort of thing is even possible in the first place, then what would you do to fix it?"

Arthur shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his cloak. "I'm not exactly certain. It would take a great deal of research and time, but first of all, I would need to get back. Where _did_ you find me, anyway, Mr. Jones?"

"Just Alfred. You were in the trash behind that Frenchie's doll shop."

"Ugh. Bonnefoy's?"

"Yeah, that one. I thought that he'd just thrown you out, and I… well, I sorta…" he trailed off, looking away and poking his finger all the way through the tear in the fabric absently.

"You sort of what?" Arthur asked. The guilty look on Alfred's face was a bit suspicious, but it quickly gave way to embarrassment.

"I sorta thought you'd make a good Christmas present for my little sister," he admitted.

So Arthur had been right. As much as he wanted to be angry with Alfred for trying to give him to a little girl for dressing up and tea parties, he knew he really shouldn't be. There was no way that Alfred could have known, after all.

Of course, this didn't mean that Arthur _wasn't_ angry with him.

It must have shown on his face, because Alfred cut him off before he could even open his mouth, "But didn't you say it would take a while for you to work it out? Where were you… magicking… or whatever?"

"The empty building next to the shop. Why should that matter?"

"By yourself?"

"Naturally."

Alfred thought on it for a moment, sitting down in an armchair next to the window (and rudely neglecting to invite Arthur to have a seat as well) and still fiddling with his shirt. Finally, he seemed to come to some sort of conclusion.

"So… who's to say that something like this won't happen to you again?" he asked, looking strangely concerned as he met Arthur's eyes again. "You said you could be on your own for a long time, and what if you got hurt or something? I mean, who knows what else you could screw up?"

"Oh? Well, what else am I supposed to do then?" Arthur sent him a glare and collapsed onto the bench at the foot of the bed, not caring about propriety anymore.

"You should stay here with me," Alfred said.

It was Arthur's turn to be skeptical, but the look on Alfred's face was completely serious, and when Arthur couldn't seem to come up with a response, he walked over and sat down next to him.

"Really," he said. "It's just me here, and I wouldn't bother you. You could use one of the guestrooms and do all the experimenting you need, and if something happens, well… I'll be here to help you out. You don't need to worry about anybody sneaking in and walking in on you while you're working, and… to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't mind having someone around. It's pretty sad around here with my sister away."

They were all sound arguments, Arthur supposed. He didn't much care for the idea, but it would be much more convenient staying here… and he still didn't know how he'd made it from the building to the bin outside, so maybe it would be safer, too. Not to mention the fact that he was starting to feel exceptionally exhausted, and the thought of a clean, made bed was too appealing, regardless of whether or not he'd be able to sleep or appreciate bed linens in his state.

"I'd hate to impose," he said, but Alfred shook his head.

"Nah, you'd really be doing me a favor." A thought seemed to cross his mind, and he suddenly added, "Though if you _really _want to help me out, you could still be Maddie's Christmas present when she gets back."

Arthur shuddered. "I'll take you up on the offer, but," he said, then raised a finger, "with one condition."

"What's that?"

He looked over at Alfred with his best Not-Amused expression and said, "You go back to that shop and buy your sister a proper doll."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thanks again for all the lovely reviews, alerts, and faves!

When I posted this on LJ, I got some questions about Arthur, so I figure I'll just explain some things for everyone's sake really quick (read: not very quick at all).

(Copy-pasted from my LJ /is lazy)

Now, I don't know much about dolls at all, and I'm not into BJD or anything, so please bear with me if my ignorance shows. Due to time constraints, I didn't get to put as much research into this as I would have liked, so, unfortunately, there are a few magic-makes-this-possible moments since I didn't quite grasp all of the facts before sitting down to write this.

Arthur has managed to turn himself into a life-sized, strung and ball-jointed bisque doll, made entirely of porcelain. Because he's sort of enormous and all bisque, this would mean that he's going to be very heavy and also very fragile, but as he's transfigured himself via magic, it's going to have strengthened and lightened him more than your average doll. This is why the vase in Chapter 1 didn't shatter his head along with itself. (Also, my headcanon tells me that regardless of whether he's nation or human, Alfred is very strong and doesn't always think things through, so the idea that he could just hoist Arthur over his shoulder and not think about the fact that tiny Madeleine would never be able to pick him up wouldn't be so farfetched—even if Arthur didn't weigh less than he should already.)

Lily (who is, of course, Liechtenstein) and all of the other life-sized dolls that Francis makes only have porcelain heads, hands, and feet, making them lighter. They're still not really meant for any sort of vigorous playtime, but more for dressing up and the like, and definitely for wealthier children that would have other, smaller toys to bear the brunt of any wear and tear.

French and German bisque dolls were very popular during the 1860s to the 1880s (this fic mostly takes place from December 1863 into 1864), though baby dolls were becoming more the in-thing than adult-looking dolls.

I hope that clears things up, but if you've got any other questions, ask away. I'd be more than happy to answer them ^_^

Now that this ridiculously long author's note is done, enjoy~

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><p>The next week passed rather quickly for Arthur. After he and Alfred had found him some clothes and gone to retrieve his materials from the empty building that night, he had hardly done anything but work and occasionally fend off questions from his host for the next several days.<p>

"So, Arthur… What's your surname? You never told me."

Arthur didn't bother looking up from the complicated circle he was sketching, which was infinitely more difficult now that his hands were porcelain. "Just Arthur," he answered. The last thing he needed was word getting out to the general public about what had happened to him—and especially not to his family.

"Arthur JustArthur. That's an odd name. MacArthur, sure, but JustArthur is weird."

He finally looked up to find Alfred grinning at him, leaned back in his slightly shabby desk chair and twirling a pen in his fingers. "You're an idiot," he told him matter-of-factly, and Alfred only smiled wider.

Their afternoons were usually spent this way, except for the days when Alfred would be out on business (doing what, Arthur had no idea). They'd established the study as Arthur's base of operation, since Alfred had forbidden his housekeeper from ever setting foot over the threshold (he had a peculiar 'filing system' that seemed to offend her, though Arthur had refrained from telling him that teetering stacks of paperwork piled in various corners of the room didn't really count as a filing system in the first place), and it's where they were now. Arthur was at his makeshift drawing table on one side of the room, and Alfred was at his own desk opposite, though he'd abandoned his own work about an hour before in favor of chatting with (bothering) his guest.

Arthur had to admit, however, that for all his faults, Alfred had really been a great help to him so far. He'd done more than give him a place to stay and surprisingly decent company; once he'd gotten past the claimed absurdness of Arthur's research, Alfred had actually offered to help with that as well, and his scientific way of thinking had already gotten Arthur past a few rough spots as he searched for a way to reverse the effects of his botched spell. Working out Arthur's issues always seemed to be a welcome break from whatever it was Alfred was doing, too, as all the numbers and figures tended to leave him as stressed and as out-of-sorts as was possible for such an inexhaustibly optimistic person.

(It had taken a little prying, but he'd managed to get Alfred to confess to having been through a few years of medical training before he'd left America, though the way he spoke about it left Arthur with the feeling that it was a very uncomfortable topic for him. He was awfully curious about the whole thing, but neither of them had brought it up again, so Arthur had to content himself with knowing that he at least had someone educated in biology and chemistry to discuss his ideas with.)

With an enormous yawn, Alfred sat up straight and started to shuffle the papers on his desk into some semblance of organization, either not noticing or just ignoring how Arthur had dodged the question about his name. "I'm thinking of going to get a Christmas tree today," he said. "Y'know. For Maddie. Do you need me to pick anything up for you?"

Arthur considered it for a moment, the thought of Christmas decorations making him question how useful a bit of holly would be, but then he wondered what Alfred would say about him crushing up a lovely new wreath for magical purposes. The man had been on a mission from the first day Arthur had stayed with him, using his spare time in the evenings to add as much holiday cheer to the home as he possibly could, whistling carols as he strung up evergreen garlands and paper snowflakes. Arthur had learned not to question it after a lengthy speech on the wonders of Christmastime… and the sheepish confession afterwards that Alfred just wanted everything to be perfect for his sister.

And speaking of Madeleine… "No, thank you, but why haven't you gone back to the doll shop yet? You don't want the Frog to sell out, you know."

Alfred's hands stilled on the desk, and his smile seemed to slip a bit. "I've got plenty of time," he said, sounding unconcerned, but there was something false about the brightness of his voice, and Arthur wasn't prepared to let it go.

"You've only got four days until Madeleine arrives, Alfred, and then it's only a few more to Christmas after that. You'll be so busy with her here that you won't be able to sneak off to get it."

"Oh, come on, Arthur," Alfred said, keeping up the forced grin and picking at that same hole in his shirtsleeve as before. It seemed to be a nervous habit of his. "Don't act like my nanny. I manage just fine without you telling me what to do."

Arthur made a disbelieving noise and set down his pencil to level a serious look at him. "Look, you're going out to get the tree already. Why can't you just pop in the shop and stop procrastinating? What's the issue here?"

The smile disappeared entirely, and Alfred gave him an unbecoming glare of his own. "The issue is you not knowing how to mind your own business. It's not your problem, so I'd appreciate it if you just left it alone."

His tone was completely unlike his usual, cheerful self, and it caught Arthur totally off guard. Once he'd recovered, however, it only added to his ire, and he shot back, "Well I _was _minding my own business until someone came and plucked me out of the garbage, thank you. It's not as though I'm asking for my sake. I thought this was supposed to be important to you, but I can see that I was wrong. I probably should have guessed it from a man that shops for his own little sister out of the bin."

Arthur realized what the problem was the very moment he'd said it, and he instantly regretted his harsh words. The badly patched holes in Alfred's clothing, the lack of household staff, his thinly veiled frustration as he went over his accounting ledgers constantly… It was too late, though, and the damage had been done.

Alfred had stiffened in his seat, staring at the desk in front of him almost hard enough to bore holes in it. The pen still in his hand gave an ominous crunch, and when Arthur saw ink seep from between his fingers, he quickly tried to get an apology out—_Alfred, I_—but he was cut off when those blue eyes met his. The expression was hardly what he'd expected.

Alfred wasn't angry. He looked utterly miserable.

"I'm… damnit, I'm broke, Arthur," he said, voice cracking. "I'm poor. I didn't have enough for the stupid doll in the first place, and I sure as hell can't afford it now. And even though you won't tell me who you are, I know that you're rich—you don't hide it very well, y'know—so I don't expect you to understand how this feels."

His head hit the desk with a _thud_, and Arthur felt overwhelmingly guilty. He had no idea how to make up for it, or even how to comfort him, but he found himself edging over to him anyway and resting a hand on Alfred's shoulder uselessly.

"Listen, Alfred," he said, "I'm really very sorry. I didn't mean what I said."

There was no response, so he shook him a bit and crouched down closer.

"Look at me, please."

Reluctantly, Alfred pulled his head up, and Arthur cringed at another fresh wave of guilt from the wretched look on his face.

"You're right," he continued despite how awful he felt. "I've never had to worry about financial matters, thanks to my family, so… well, you've been so helpful this past week, so why don't you let me help you?"

Alfred looked stricken, and sat up straight in his chair. "No," he said. "No, I don't need your charity. I don't want it."

"But I've stayed here, slept in one of your guestrooms, used your study… I even sort of melted one of your stock pots, if you recall. I should at least give you some sort of payment for rent," Arthur countered, but Alfred only leaned back and pulled out a threadbare handkerchief to wipe at the ink on his palm.

"Seriously, Arthur," he said, "it's not necessary. I'm letting you stay as a favor, and it's not like you even eat anything. Besides, I told you I don't want it."

The stubborn fool, Arthur thought to himself. Fine then. He'd just have to be a little more persuasive.

"_You _may not want it, but isn't it rather selfish of you to deny Madeleine a nice gift for the sake of your pride?"

He knew it was a rather low blow after what he'd said earlier, but it seemed that Alfred was considering it now (and he didn't look angry or hurt), so Arthur kept at it.

"Think of it as a Christmas gift from me to you. You're letting me stay here as a favor, and that's very generous of you, so let me return the favor," he said. Alfred looked up at him, and Arthur knew he'd given in. But just to be certain… "Please, Alfred."

Alfred hesitated, "… It's really expensive."

"I'm sure it will be worth it."

Another moment or two passed, then Alfred's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine," he said, then quickly added, "but thanks. Really."

Arthur gave him a small smile and replied, "It's my pleasure. Really."

* * *

><p>"Arthuuuuurrrrrrr!" Alfred called from the bottom of the staircase, and Arthur rolled his glass eyes (he didn't think he'd ever get used to that particular sensation) before walking out of the study and looking down over the railing.<p>

"Don't shout at me, you insufferable dolt," he called back, and rolled his eyes again at the way Alfred beamed up at him. "What is it?"

"My cab is here! I'll be back with Maddie in a bit—" his grin widened even further somehow "—so make sure you keep outta sight in the study like you do when Mrs. Jacobs is here cleaning."

Arthur dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Yes, yes, I know. Go on now. I know you're dying to see her."

"I'll see ya later," Alfred said, buttoning his coat, wrapping a scarf around his neck, and pulling on his hat, but before he could make it out the door, he stopped and turned back around.

(At this point, Arthur suddenly realized that he'd been standing there watching the man leave the whole time, but for what reason, he had no idea.)

"Oh, and don't worry, Arthur," Alfred said, snapping him out of his thoughts, "I'll stop in and check on you every so often so you don't have to sit in there all by yourself all day. I know Maddie'll be here, but you're still important to me, and I'll make sure I take care of you, too."

With one last smile, he waved and was gone.

For the past week and a half, Arthur had gotten used to not feeling much of anything physically, once he'd gotten over his initial soreness. Being made of porcelain had sort of dulled his nerves (if he even still had them—he wasn't quite sure how it all worked), and having an abdomen full of nothing had mostly eliminated any sort of feeling from insides and organs that he no longer had.

So, considering all this, it came as quite a shock when Arthur felt a not-entirely-unpleasant flutter somewhere around where his stomach would have been, and he could have sworn that the heart that wasn't in his chest anymore skipped a beat or two.

It took Arthur all of three minutes to remember how his legs worked and stumble back to the study.

* * *

><p>For reasons unknown, Arthur found himself unable to really focus on his work that evening, or even through the next few days. It may have had something to do with Alfred's frequent outbursts of laughter and poorly-sung carols carrying through the corridors, although he'd yet to hear as much as a peep from Madeleine. Even when he'd snuck downstairs this morning to watch her finally open her doll under the Christmas tree, she'd only gasped and wrapped her little arms around Alfred's neck. He'd mouthed a heartfelt, <em>Thank you<em>, to Arthur over her pale curls, and it was all Arthur could do to give him a sappy smile back through the crack in the door.

It was obvious that his host was wrapped as tightly around the little girl's finger as was possible, and even Arthur could see that she was absolutely adorable, but if he was being honest, he didn't quite understand it. He had several older brothers, but not a one of them had ever expressed any interest in him in any manner other than as a punching bag, and his one younger brother was a cheeky little thing that he avoided at all costs. Of course, he was sure that his own family situation was nothing like Alfred's had been growing up, but when Arthur stopped to wonder if things would have been different had his brothers not spent their childhoods competing for attention and inheritance, it left him feeling sort of hollow and, well… a little jealous, really.

But he couldn't resent either of the Joneses for that. Alfred was too… _Alfred_, and he hadn't even really met poor Madeleine.

"And how are you this evening, Lord Kirkland?"

Arthur glanced up from his calculations to find Alfred curtseying at the door, an obnoxious grin on his face. "Oh shut it, you," he tossed back, but without any real venom.

(Unfortunately for Arthur, sending Alfred to the bank for him had entailed giving his whole name, and more unfortunate still, Alfred had recognized it from the newspapers a few months ago when he'd inherited his father's title and estate. Naturally, Arthur still hadn't heard the end of it.)

"Well hello to you, too, cranky," Alfred said. "Maddie's all tucked in, so I'm yours for the rest of the night. Whatcha working on?" True to his word, he'd had been spending a fair portion of his time in the study with Arthur during the day, and after Madeleine had been put to bed, the two of them would stay up late into the night working or, more often, just talking.

With a sigh, Arthur pushed back from his table. "Nothing really… I'm having a little trouble concentrating," he said. "I suppose I could do with a break."

"Yeah, me too, and I haven't even started mine yet," Alfred said as he plopped down in his chair and glared at his paperwork. "I really can't stand this stuff."

"If you don't mind my asking, what is it you're having trouble with? My mother seemed to think I'd wind up an accountant for some reason, so I had a fair bit of schooling before I managed to convince her otherwise. I might be able to help you."

"Are you serious?" Alfred's face lit up, and he quickly pulled a chair over beside his, motioning for Arthur to sit next to him. "This is great! I mean, I can handle the math fine, but I haven't been able to get anything else right since I started doing this."

As he waited for Alfred to gather up all his ledgers and records, Arthur made himself comfortable at the desk and let his eyes wander over the walls of the study again, taking in paintings of who he assumed were Alfred's father and grandfathers, judging by the resemblance, and two portraits of very different women on either side of the door. The older of the two must have been Alfred's mother—her clear blue eyes, wavy golden hair, and mischievous little half-smile confirmed it—but Arthur couldn't seem to place the other. Her curls and complexion were much fairer, and her eyes were a peculiar shade of almost violet blue that he was certain he'd seen somewhere before…

The door opened a bit, and Arthur suddenly realized who the woman was as his gaze settled on an identical set of eyes peeking in through the crack. She was Madeleine's mother.

… Then, of course, he realized that Madeleine was _there_ and _looking straight at him_, so he promptly panicked and froze in his seat, trying to leave a neutral expression on his face.

"So here's the past three months' records, Arth—"Alfred paused himself when he looked up at him, brows scrunching up in confusion. "What's with that look?"

Arthur gave the tiniest nod past him towards the door, but then had to resist the urge to strangle him when he missed the gesture entirely.

"What? What is it?" Alfred said, oblivious.

Thankfully, Madeleine chose that moment to open the door further and speak up, rubbing at her eyes sleepily.

"Alfred?" she said, and Arthur was shocked at how meek and quiet her little voice was compared to her brother's—and Alfred was shocked at the sudden noise and jumped nearly a foot out of his chair.

"M-Maddie!" he stuttered, spinning around to face her and clutching at his heart. "Why aren't you in bed?"

She looked down at her feet, mumbling, "I couldn't sleep. I wanted to get in bed with you, but you weren't there."

Arthur could almost feel Alfred melt next to him, and he had to keep from rolling his eyes at the way he nearly cooed back, "Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry!"

But then her attention shifted, and Arthur stiffened as she stared right at him intently. "Oh, but Freddie!" she breathed, excited. "You got one for you, too?"

Alfred looked confused for a moment, but when he followed her gaze to apparently-doll-Arthur, he just plastered on a grin and said, "Oh… Oh yeah! I… uh… You know I get lonely when you're at school, so… yeah."

"What's his name?"

"Um… Artie?" (Had Arthur still possessed a tongue, he would have needed to bite it at that.)

"And you were talking to him just now, weren't you?" she asked. "That's so cute! We should have a tea party tomorrow with him and Lily! Can we, Freddie? Please?"

"Uh, I… um…" Alfred stalled, sending a panicked look in Arthur's direction, who did his utmost to convey murderous intent through his glass eyes while keeping his face motionless.

Unfortunately, however, his Glare of Death was no match for Madeleine's adorableness, and Alfred was weak.

"S-sure! That sounds great!" he said with a nervous laugh, then jumped up and yawned. "Wouldja look at the time! Let's just get you back to bed, Maddie!"

He hurried her out the door, but before he could close it behind them, Arthur heard her tell Alfred to stop.

"Aren't you bringing Artie?" she asked from the hallway.

Alfred glanced back in the door, and since Madeleine couldn't see in at all, Arthur furiously scribbled, _You're a dead man_, on a piece of paper and held it up for him to read.

Alfred gulped. "He'll be fine."

"He's not sleeping with you? But he might get lonely."

Suddenly, Arthur's strange stomach lurch returned, and though he couldn't feel it, he was certain that his face had flushed; looking up, he saw that Alfred was bright red as well, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly a few times, but then he managed to blurt out, "He'll be fine! Night, Artie!" and slammed the door.

* * *

><p>Later that night, after Arthur had crept down the hall to his bedroom, pulled on a too-large set of Alfred's nightclothes, and crawled into bed, he still couldn't seem to fight off that odd fluttery feeling somewhere in his chest.<p>

In the almost-silence of the house, he heard the creak of a door, footfalls on the ceiling above him, and then a rustling of linens and the shifting of a bedframe—Alfred, finally getting to bed. Arthur stared up at the wooden beams of the ceiling between them… and then shook himself physically to distract from the infuriating pangs in his chest.

Ridiculous, he told himself as he flipped over onto his stomach, joints rattling and twisting the sheets around him uncomfortably. He'd been too lax with his work lately, and he'd have to correct that, starting tomorrow. If all these strange sensations had done anything for him, it was to show him just how accustomed he'd become to his condition, how complacent he'd become in his state. He'd been so used to feeling nothing at all that normal, human-feeling things were distracting him so. The sooner he got back to normal, the better.

Arthur spared one more glance up at the ceiling, then buried his face in his pillow and drifted off.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **As usual, thanks to everyone who's reviewed, alerted, and faved this! Seeing your feedback puts a smile on my face every time ^_^

* * *

><p>Throughout Arthur's twenty-five years, he'd constantly been subjected to various forms of torture, most of which transpired at the hands of either his brothers or his strict upbringing. But through it all (well, most of it) (sort of), he had kept his calm demeanor, suffered through the pain andor humiliation, and carried on as any proper gentleman should. His ability to maintain his sense of decorum in the face of (almost) any hardship was one of his greatest sources of personal pride, and it was also one of the contributing factors that led to his father's choice to name Arthur as his heir instead of one of his older and, in their eyes, more deserving siblings.

However, the new Lord Kirkland was quite positive that the late Lord Kirkland would posthumously disown him if he could see him now, regardless of how devotedly he was keeping his formidable wrath in check, despite the humiliating circumstances.

"More tea for you, Mr. Jones?" Madeleine asked primly, holding up an empty, child-sized teapot.

To Arthur's surprise, Alfred had actually put Madeleine's request off successfully for days, but now, the day before she was to return to France, this terrible fate had finally fallen upon him.

"Oh heavens, no thank you, Miss Williams," Alfred replied, southern-gentlemanly drawl creeping in at the edge of his words more than usual, as it had been for the past half hour. Arthur tried to ignore the odd effect it had on his non-existent heart rate, and wondered instead for the millionth time why Madeleine's name wasn't the same as her brother's. He hadn't ever known until Madeleine suggested some propriety was in order for their little… _event_, and started using _Mr. Jones_ instead of her usual _Alfred_ or _Freddie_, and Alfred had followed suit…

"What about you, Captain Kirk?"

… As well as come up with yet another absurd name and title for Arthur.

It was getting harder and harder to hold still, especially since the purple satin ribbon that Madeleine had wrapped around his head and tied in an enormous bow at his temple had flopped over into his eye. It didn't hurt, but it was hard to keep from the instinctual twitch every time it grazed over his lashes. (It also didn't help that it felt like 'Lily,' seated across the table from him, was staring straight through him with those empty-looking eyes of hers.)

(… Nor did he appreciate being offered invisible tea when he hadn't been able to eat or drink properly in _ages_. The nerve.)

Before Madeleine could mime refilling his teacup, Alfred cut in. "Y'know, Maddie," he said, pointing towards the clock, "it's about time we started packing you up, don't you think?"

He received a wide-eyed, almost tearful look in return.

"Come on," he said, pleadingly. "You know I don't want you to go, but school is important. Now why don't you start on your room upstairs, and I'll be up in a minute after I put all this away."

Madeleine nodded, clearly disappointed, and slipped off her chair and up the stairs without a word.

As soon as she was out of sight, however, Arthur let out a growl of frustration and ripped the bow off of his head. The frilly apron followed, but the long strand of false pearls was flung in Alfred's direction and hit him soundly in the face.

"Hey!"

"And you! You sit there the whole time not even bothering to hide that obnoxious little snigger of yours! I swear, Alfred Jones, I will make absolutely sure that you regret this to your dying day. I'll hex you into the next century. I'll—"

"No hexing at the table, Artieee…"

"—and don't you _dare_ call me by that ridiculous nickname again, or I promise you I'll wipe that infernal grin right off your face, you overgrown child!"

Alfred stood from the table, smile firmly in place, and held out his arms. "Yeah, yeah," he said. "Now be a nice little doll like Lily here, and let me carry you back up to the study."

It was a necessary evil, Arthur knew. Naturally, Madeleine would question her brother's doll walking up the stairs of his own volition, and before the accursed tea party, he'd been hoisted over one of Alfred's broad shoulders and hurried downstairs before he could even protest.

At least he wasn't being kidnapped this time… So with more than a little reluctance and even more grumbling, Arthur allowed himself to be gathered up bridal-style, went limp against Alfred's chest, and ignored the steady thump of a very human heart against his shoulder as he was carted upstairs.

* * *

><p>With Madeleine gone from the house, time started to pass more quickly for Arthur. Despite his resolution to stop wasting time and return to normal as soon as possible, the new year had come and gone, and his days were more often spent helping Alfred with his bookkeeping than actually working out a solution to his situation. Even when they had free time to waste, it was more and more frequently spent on the sofa in the sitting room, just chatting or reading.<p>

They had already gotten to Arthur's past in through the course of their conversations, but somehow Alfred had always managed to dodge questions about his own, giving vague answers before steering the topic elsewhere. He had listened intently when Arthur had briefly explained how he'd been born illegitimate and had fought tooth and nail to earn his father's favor, but Alfred had never really pressed too hard for more information. However, Arthur's curiosity was getting a bit unmanageable, and he'd almost convinced himself that it was unfair that his host should know so much about him, but not have the decency to share any information himself. He had no idea how to get Alfred to open up about it, however, so he made do with just waiting.

One slow February afternoon, Alfred was off in the kitchen brewing some coffee (for him) and tea (for Arthur, who could and did appreciate the smell even if he couldn't drink it), so Arthur chose a book at random from the shelf and made himself comfortable in his usual spot on the sofa, away from the window.

The book was worn so far as to make the title on the spine illegible, but once Arthur got a good look at it, he found that he'd come across some sort of medical textbook. He nearly got up and put it right back, but a spark of curiosity made him pull open the cover—and there, on the inside, was an inscription:

_For my dearest Alfred, ever the champion of my good health, in endless gratitude and affection, and in the hopes that he will extend his heroism to those in need once my fight is done._

_Marianne Williams_

_4 July, 1859_

Williams, like Madeleine… but her _dearest_ Alfred…? Who—

"Your tea, m'lord!"

Arthur jumped as a china cup suddenly appeared under his nose, and looked up to find Alfred's ever-present smile only inches from his face—but as soon as he was there, he was gone again, standing up straight.

"I made it extra strong, so you could smell it better, and I was thinking we could… Oh." Blue eyes settled on the book in his lap, and, wondering if he'd stumbled upon something he shouldn't have, Arthur offered him a slightly apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry. I picked it up accidentally," he said, closing the cover and trading it out for the tea. "Not exactly my area of expertise anyway."

"It's… fine. I'm just surprised. I forgot it was here."

Intensely curious, but determined not to be nosy, Arthur patted the seat next to him. Alfred sat down slowly, still focused on the book in his hands, and, to Arthur's surprise, he said quietly, "Marianne was Madeleine's mother."

Of all the thousands of possible implications of that statement, only one occurred to Arthur at that instant, and he found his mind flooded with questions that he didn't dare ask.

'My dearest Alfred,' and 'Endless affection,' she had written—and the sad, but fond look on Alfred's face now… With the way that he fawned over Madeleine, it wasn't inconceivable, but… but how old was Alfred anyway? Old enough, Arthur was sure, but _still_, he had to have been _very_ young… But why then was there a portrait of the girl up in the study? Unless Alfred had put it up himself—but the baby, why hadn't they named her Madeleine _Jones _instead of Williams? They must have never been married—

"… So Maddie's just my half-sister."

Arthur snapped his mouth shut, realizing that it had fallen open at the thought of Alfred being a father. Of course she was his sister… He was just being ridiculous. (And the surge of relief that suddenly washed over him was just for Alfred's sake. Of course.)

"O-oh."

Alfred opened the book and started flipping through it, and Arthur noticed all sorts of messy notes scribbled in the margins of nearly every page, all in what he recognized as Alfred's handwriting.

"She gave me this on my birthday," Alfred continued (and Arthur swore to himself that he would not jump to any more conclusions while Alfred was speaking). "I was going to be a doctor, and I was going to make sure that she got better. It didn't quite work out that way, though, and she died two months later."

"I… I'm so sorry," Arthur mumbled, wishing he had something to say that wasn't so useless, but Alfred just gave him a small smile.

"It's alright. She'd been ill for a long time, but she never told anyone until it was too late. I hadn't been studying long, but even I knew that there wasn't much we could do. It didn't keep me from trying though."

Arthur didn't doubt that, as stubborn as he knew Alfred to be, but before he could tell him so, Alfred set the book down and started talking again.

"After that, I kept on studying like a madman," he said, "and the town doctor took me on as his assistant. I loved every minute of it, too, but then I got a letter from my father, and… Well, wait. Let me back up."

Interest piqued, Arthur shifted into a more comfortable position, and tried to school his expression into something not quite as eager to hear Alfred's history as he actually felt. He didn't want to put him off, after all, and thankfully, being a doll had afforded him plenty of opportunities to perfect his range of neutral expressions. Alfred settled alongside him on the sofa, bringing an arm up to rest across the back of it behind Arthur's head.

"So my father was English, and a few years before I was born, he moved to America for some sort of business venture or something. He met my mother, fell in love, got married, all of that, but she died while delivering me. Now, my father wasn't the most caring sort of person, but he really, truly loved my mother, and losing her just sort of broke him. He stayed with me and my nurse Lizzie until I was five, but honestly… I don't think he could stand the sight of me once I started looking and acting like Mother used to, so he packed up and went back home to London. Lizzie told me he had some sort of opportunity for his business, and that he'd send for me as soon as he got settled, but that didn't happen. I think he might've blamed me for what happened to her somehow."

"That's… that's just ridiculous!" Arthur burst out. He didn't want to interrupt, not when they were finally getting somewhere, but he just couldn't contain his outrage. "To hold an innocent child responsible for something so utterly out of his control—"

Alfred snatched the teacup out of Arthur's hand before he could spill it on himself, setting it down on the table and holding onto Arthur's hand instead. "I know, I know," he started, voice soothing, "but it's alright, Arthur. If it was there, it was somewhere deep down, and he might not have even known himself."

"Still, to just abandon you… It's not right," Arthur grumbled, irritated that despite the horrible things Alfred was telling him, he still had the nerve to sit there and smile at him as though nothing was wrong.

"Are you going to let me finish my story or not?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, and after a moment (taken to let Alfred know that he still did not approve), Arthur nodded. "Thank you. Anyway, my father still made sure we were provided for, and for years it was just me, Lizzie, and the house staff in this big house out in the country in Virginia. I got to run around and be a rowdy kid all I wanted, and we still got letters from him every once in a while, making sure I was doing well in school and not _besmirching _the Jones name or whatever.

"And then, when I was fifteen, I suddenly get a letter from him that tells me I've got a new baby sister, and she and her mother are going to come live with us. He met Miss Marianne in Toronto—no idea why he was there—and when she told him about Maddie, he insisted that they go down to Virginia and stay in the house. And of course, you know that I was a lost cause as soon as I set eyes on Maddie.

"Things were good for a while. Miss Marianne was so nice and quiet, and she was such a good listener. I think that she made a big difference on my father too, because he started to write more often, to me especially, and it actually sounded like what I was up to was important to him, not because it could make him look bad, but because he actually cared about me. And then there was Maddie, too… As soon as she could walk, she was following me around everywhere, so I'd read to her and play with her, and she learned to speak pretty quickly and really well, but she was mostly quiet just like Miss Marianne. They both just let me run my mouth all the time…

"Of course, after she passed, everything was different. I don't know if you know much about what's going on back in the States now, but it wasn't looking great, and with Miss Marianne gone, my father sent for us immediately. The governess that he'd hired for Maddie packed her all up, but I was right in the middle of becoming a doctor like I'd promised Marianne I would… I was almost eighteen, and I decided that I was going to stay put. So I said goodbye to Maddie, and it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

"The battles began the year after they left, and I was there, trying to patch up exit wounds the size of my fist and amputating limbs, and… and it was awful. I was still getting letters from my father, asking me to get out while I could and come learn how to take over his business instead of trying to be a doctor, but I didn't want to just leave when people needed me. He was starting to get sick himself though, and after I heard about that horrible fight at Antietam, I just couldn't stay anymore. I hopped on a blockade runner and managed to make it here, and that's where I've been since then. My father died in August, and I had to send Maddie to school in September, and then, well, you know the rest."

It was quiet for a long while after he had finished, with Arthur finally noticing Alfred's hand still resting on top of his, there on the cushion between them. It was silly, Alfred comforting _him _when it was his own troubles they were discussing, and after wondering about it for so long, he didn't know what to think now that he had the truth. Arthur had had it rough himself, that was certain… but Alfred had lost the nearly all of the things that were most important to him in some form or another. He'd never even met his mother, his father had left him, and after he'd found someone to love and appreciate him, Marianne had died herself. Now he was unable to do what he really wanted, be a doctor, and even his little sister was off at school in an entirely different country.

Arthur didn't know what to say. After a moment, though, he realized how personal everything he'd just heard was, and what it must have taken for Alfred to tell him… and proof of the trust he must have had in him.

"Alfred… Thank you for telling me all of this," he finally said, turning his palm upwards to wrap his fingers around Alfred's hand.

And as usual, Alfred gave him one of those easy, breathtaking smiles of his.

"Thanks for listening," he answered, and squeezed back.

* * *

><p>"Dear lord! Is it nearly <em>May<em>?"

"Hey, I'm reading that!"

Arthur ignored Alfred's protests as he snatched the newspaper from his hand, staring in shock at the date printed at the top of the page. He knew that he'd been more than less idle lately, but things had been going so comfortably the past few weeks that he hadn't really felt the pressing need to hurry up and fix himself… But he had no idea just how long he'd been lazing about, chitchatting and sniffing cups of tea with the idiot grumbling into his toast across the table from him. He'd even missed a birthday…

"I can't believe how time has flown," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"Only old people say that, y'know," Alfred managed to get out through the mouthful of bread and jam.

"Oh quiet, you. It's rude to speak with your mouth full anyway."

"It's rude to steal somebody's paper while he's reading it, too."

Arthur rolled his eyes, hardly noticing the feel of it anymore. "Forgive me, oh please, I beg of you," he said flatly, leveling a hardly apologetic look at Alfred while the man stood up and brushed the crumbs from his lap.

"Lucky for you, I'm already done with it," Alfred said. He gave Arthur's chair a good-natured kick and dodged the retaliatory shot aimed at his shin on his way to the staircase, laughing and calling back, "I got interviewers to see, medical boards to impress, Artie!"

Ridiculous as usual, Arthur thought to himself with a fond smile, glancing back down at the newspaper disinterestedly. Alfred opening up to him back in February had done more than just sate Arthur's curiosity and bring them a little closer together; it had started more conversations about what Alfred was capable of doing, and after much persuasion, he'd finally agreed to start working towards becoming a doctor again.

Suddenly, Arthur caught a glimpse of his own name out of the corner of his eye, and he nearly knocked over his cooling cup of tea in his haste to pull the paper up to reading-level.

_TITLE AND ESTATE PASSES TO BROTHER OF MISSING EARL_

He read over the article as quickly as possible with shaking hands rattling the paper and his porcelain fingers. It was James, his eldest brother… Arthur had been gone for so long that they had pronounced him dead. He didn't know how James had managed to secure his place—he hadn't drawn up a will yet, thinking he had plenty of time at his young age—but if it had already happened, he didn't know what he could do to contest it, and certainly not in his current state.

Everything he'd worked for his entire life… and his brother had taken it from him. No—that wasn't right. His own stupidity had done that for him. First the mistake with the spell, and now his idleness for the past four months had left him with nothing.

He felt sick.

"Hey Arthur, can you fix my tie?"

He hadn't even heard Alfred come back down the stairs, suit jacket tossed over his arm as he fiddled with the stickpin securing his tie. As soon as Alfred saw his face, though, he rushed over and grabbed ahold of his shoulders.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked. There was a manic look in his eyes, his jaw set and determined. Arthur didn't trust his voice, so he just pointed to the article, and Alfred skimmed through it quickly.

He gave Arthur an indignant look as soon as he was through, saying, "But—but… Can they even do that?"

"Seems they can," Arthur answered, voice coming out as more a whisper than anything.

"You don't have to let them! There has to be something… Once you work out that reversal, can't you just show up and take it back?"

Arthur shook his head. "There's too many legal ramifications to that, I'm sure. And even if I did, what am I to say when they ask where I've been?"

"Just tell them you took a trip or something!"

It was clear that Alfred didn't understand at all, and the fact that he was continuing on like it was so easily fixed simply burned Arthur's increasingly raw anger and frustration. He ripped the paper back out of Alfred's hands and threw it to the table, trying his hardest not to raise his voice.

"Do you realize what that would to do my reputation? You don't just… just _leave _without a word and suddenly turn back up wanting your life back when you're in my sort of station, Alfred," he seethed, realizing with fresh ire that it's exactly what would have happened all along… He'd never even contacted anyone, letting them know that he'd be gone for a time. He'd just been so distracted…

Alfred glared at him. "Who cares about your reputation? Is what people think of you really more important than this?"

"God _damn_it, Alfred!" Arthur finally shouted, and Alfred took a step back. "You couldn't possibly understand, so just go to your bloody interview and leave me alone!"

It took a moment, but Alfred finally pulled on his jacket, muttering, "Fine. Just… fine. You wanna sit here feeling sorry for yourself, that's just fine with me. Excuse me for trying to help."

He stormed out, and Arthur heard him slam the front door behind him, but only seconds later, he was bursting back through it and rushing up the stairs. Arthur saw a piece of paper flutter down after him, but he refused to pay it any attention… but when Alfred came back down with a suitcase in hand, he couldn't help but call out, "Where the hell are you going, then?"

Alfred's answer was calm and collected, but it was obviously taking quite a lot of effort for him to keep his voice in check. "France," he said, and Arthur gaped. "I got a letter. Maddie is sick. Very sick."

The empty, nauseous feeling suddenly worsened, and all Arthur could manage to say was, "But your interview…"

"It can wait. I don't guess you couldn't understand either, Arthur, but I know what's important to me."

Without another word, he walked out, leaving Arthur stunned in his wake.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Well, this is it everyone. Thank you all sooo much for reading and reviewing, and I hope this last chapter doesn't disappoint!

* * *

><p>It came as no surprise that with Alfred absent, Arthur's time spent in the study was considerably more productive. He accomplished more in the first week after their disagreement than he had in the whole four months since his accident, and by the middle of May, he'd transferred his workspace to the cellar, where he could sketch out enormous chalk circles on the floor and drip candlewax wherever he liked without ruining the carpet.<p>

(Arthur told himself that the quiet of the house was a welcome change, that his uninterrupted hours of work were just what he needed… that he preferred being on his own in general. This, unsurprisingly, did not make him feel better.)

He was fairly certain that he would have the last few kinks worked out within the next fortnight, but there was one issue that he wasn't sure how to approach just yet. When he had attempted the original spell, his intent was to animate the doll he'd bought at Bonnefoy's, to bring it to life, but somehow, he'd reversed it onto himself. The doll was left unchanged, and he had been turned to porcelain instead.

Up until the last few weeks of research, he'd been working with the aim to simply reverse what he had done to himself, not accounting for any outside influences, but the more he thought it out, the more it seemed that it was a flawed approach. He was going to have to replicate the first spell, but change the variables, modeling himself after an example of what he was after and leaving the model unaffected.

Arthur didn't much care for the idea, but it seemed that he was going to need a normal human there with him for the process, and there was only one he knew that he could ask.

* * *

><p>Arthur was in the middle of one of his late-night sessions, chanting quietly over a stuffed dog and a baby doll he'd found in Madeleine's room, watching the flow of energy between them and his chalk lines closely—and then the creak and thud of the front door closing upstairs startled him so badly that, instead of the doll sprouting fur, both toys immediately burst into green flame.<p>

He was still stamping out emerald cinders when Alfred poked his head in the door, asking, "Everything alright in here?"

"Fine! It's quite alright," Arthur panted. "Just a little accident. Nothing too serious."

"… Yeah. Sure."

An awkward moment of silence passed between the two of them, and Arthur found himself wishing desperately that things were back to normal, that Alfred would just laugh at his mistake and help him tidy up, and then they could talk about all of his new ideas over a cup of tea on the sofa upstairs like they used to. He already hated the uncomfortable distance, and Alfred hadn't even been back for five minutes.

"So, I'm back."

Alfred looked down at the floor as he spoke, and Arthur realized belatedly that he'd been staring at the man ever since he appeared at the door. He quickly looked away as well.

"And Madeleine?"

"She's… alright, for now."

"For now?"

Alfred pushed the door open all the way, and Arthur couldn't help but notice the slump of his shoulders and the tired way he leaned against the frame. "She's got tuberculosis," he said, but before Arthur could speak, he added, "but she's got a very good chance of recovery. She's not quite over the worst, but she's getting there. I just couldn't stay any longer… It's going to be pretty rough for a while, and I have to manage things here."

The sinking feeling that had hit Arthur at the word _tuberculosis _lessened considerably, and despite the fact that he knew Madeleine had a difficult road ahead of her, he was still relieved. He wanted to tell Alfred so, but all he could manage was a nod.

"I'm going up to bed now. I've got a ton to catch up with in the morning," Alfred said, then hesitated. "If you…y'know, if you need anything at all, just ask me. I mean it."

Arthur's old warm, fluttery sensation made a reappearance, and he realized then just how badly he had missed it. "Thank you," he said. "Go on and get some rest."

"Anytime. Night, Arthur."

* * *

><p>Despite the fact Alfred had given him a clear invitation to ask for help, another two weeks had passed, and Arthur still hadn't even been able to speak to him about how far he had gotten, much less ask him to stand in for a potentially dangerous experiment. Neither of them had said anything about the heated words they'd exchanged just before Alfred had gone to France, and it seemed that neither was going to anytime soon, so Arthur had made the decision to just ignore the problem and hope that he could sort out another solution that wouldn't require bothering Alfred. Only Heaven knew just how much the poor man had to worry about now with his floundering business, medical bills for Madeleine's care, and the fact that he was still determined to become a doctor in spite of it all.<p>

Arthur did his best to stay out of the way, though he found that he rather missed the conversations and playful bickering. He could ignore it most of the time, focusing instead on his incantations and experimental spells, but as he knelt, hunched over the flagstones and tediously scrawling alchemic symbols over his circles, he couldn't help but let his mind wander back to how things had been before… how things might have turned out if he hadn't been so negligent. His plan from the beginning was to simply sort himself out and go back to his life, and maybe send along a monetary gift to his host after the fact, but somewhere along the line, his intentions had changed, and they had done so without him ever making a conscious decision on the matter.

After months of having only left the house for a visit to the garden every once in a while, the idea of departing permanently was quite distressing to him. Even if he were able to go home and pick up where he had left off, he wasn't sure that it would have been satisfactory anymore, not after being in a happy, comfortable home with someone that might have actually cared about hi—nevermind.

Of course, now that Arthur had nowhere to go at all, his situation had changed significantly. He had no idea what he would do, but he liked to think of himself as a fairly intelligent person, and he'd had a substantial private bank account under his mother's name since he had been old enough to understand that, with his family situation, he might have to look after himself with no help one day. Maybe he could move away from London, someplace where people wouldn't know anything of him, and if all else failed, he could always be an accountant like his mother had wanted. And maybe…. maybe he could even be _Alfred's_—

No. No, he'd fix his mistake, he'd scrape all the excess he could off his account and make an anonymous donation towards a Miss Madeleine Williams' hospital bills, and then he would start over elsewhere. He'd leave the two siblings to pull themselves back together, and, once she was recovered, sweet little Maddie could have all the dolls and tea parties she wanted, because it was clear that her wonderful big brother would always indulge her.

And Arthur would be happy for them. Just… elsewhere.

* * *

><p>Arthur's breakthrough came one afternoon without much fanfare or excitement.<p>

Lily sat in the middle of the chalk circle before him, eyes empty as usual, ribbon in her hair and frilly skirt fanned around her legs. This wouldn't have been so impressive on its own, but the fact was that five minutes before, she had been an enormous, stuffed white bear in the same dress, courtesy of the plush polar bear that now sat on the shelf across the room, and of course Arthur's spell-casting. He had changed her once, then swapped the bear for another porcelain doll and changed her back with absolutely no problems for any one of the toys. Just to make certain that there would be no further issues arise, Arthur had repeated this process over and over, and now, after fifty successful attempts, he felt he was ready.

Of course, he still needed Alfred.

Arthur found him just inside the front door, anxiously tearing open an envelope and scanning over the letter inside. He was so absorbed in it that he wasn't even aware that Arthur was there watching, but after a moment, he let out a sigh of relief and finally looked up.

A smile spread across his face as soon as he saw Arthur, and he quickly said, "Maddie's getting to come home. They think she's well enough to make the trip now."

"That's wonderful, Alfred. When will she be back?"

"Well," Alfred started, his smile giving way to a slightly frustrated look, "she'll be back in two weeks, but the doctors think that she needs to stay out of the city, get some fresh air. I don't really know what I'm going to do about that… and she's pretty weak, so she's not really walking again yet either…" He trailed off, scratching the back of his head and looking out the window. "And I got a letter from the school. They rescheduled my interview, thank God. It's going to be tough now though. They said they understood, considering the circumstances, but…"

If Arthur hadn't been confident in his decision before, he was now. He didn't think he'd be able to buy them a home in the countryside, but he could definitely leave enough to help with medical expenses, and maybe enough for a live-in nurse for Madeleine so that Alfred could focus on providing and finishing his education. There would definitely be some trying times ahead for them, but having Arthur around would only complicate things, he was sure.

Suddenly, Alfred looked back up at him. "Oh, I'm sorry!" he said. "You came up here for a reason… Did you need something?"

Arthur nodded. "Actually, I was going to tell you that I think I've finally worked it out."

He had hardly finished his sentence before Alfred had crossed the space between them and latched onto his shoulders. "Really?" he nearly shouted. "Why didn't you say so? That's great! Do you need me to help? What do I need to do?"

The enthusiastic response was hardly what Arthur had been expecting, but he stammered out a reply: "Well, I—I just need you to stand there, really. That is, if you don't mind. You don't have to… I don't want to be a bother."

"You just need me to stand there?"

"Yes, basically," Arthur said. "You won't actually have to do anything, but I'll be performing a spell that involves you, as an example of a proper human, you see. But there _is _a slight possibility that something could happen to you, so if you aren't comfortable with it, then by all means, I won't ask it of you."

Alfred just shook his head, though, and said, "No, I'm doing this for you," with a determined look on his face. For a moment, Arthur managed a grateful smile back, but then their proximity suddenly caught up with him, and he looked away quickly.

"M-midnight," he stuttered. "Midnight would be best. And I've been working for hours… I'd like to get some rest before we try this."

"Sure," Alfred said, giving his shoulders a squeeze. "You just tell me where to stand."

* * *

><p>With a good thirty minutes left until the appointed time, Arthur decided he'd had enough of lying on the guestroom bed, unable to sleep, so he sluggishly fixed his waistcoat and tie, pulled on his old cloak, and made his way down to the cellar.<p>

Alfred wasn't there yet, but Arthur still had a few last minute adjustments to make, so he picked up a worn piece of chalk and got to work. He desperately wanted to be able to concentrate on the circle below him, but all he could really think about was what he was going to do once morning came. He had already packed up what little he had there at the house before he attempted to get some sleep, but now that it was coming down to it, he had never been so inclined to just stay as he was. Getting comfortable in his state was something he'd always tried to avoid… but becoming comfortable here at home, with Alfred, had happened without him ever giving it a second thought. He wasn't sure he was prepared to give that up.

"You ready for this?"

Arthur looked up to find Alfred at the door, excited grin on his face, and he muttered a _hardly _to the floor before saying aloud, "Almost. If you'll wait a moment, I'm nearly finished with this, and we'll get started at about five-'til."

A glance at the clock showed 11:50, so Arthur tried to hurry. He'd been wasting time, thinking about things he couldn't fix again… and he suddenly came to the grim realization that there was a very good chance that he would spend the rest of his life doing quite a bit of that. He finished up the last of his lines with an overly forceful scratch of the chalk, then stood and grabbed his tattered spell book to go over the entire incantation once more.

Alfred was strangely quiet as he waited, content to simply lean against the wall and watch him work, but Arthur tried to ignore it. He was going to have enough trouble getting through this without worrying what Alfred was up to, and—he looked up at the clock again—he needed to get to it right away if he wanted to make it by midnight. He didn't think the timing was strictly necessary, but the spell was more likely to go well if performed at the stroke of twelve. He had taken too long, and he now had less than four minutes.

Finally satisfied with all of the variables, he gestured for Alfred to join him in the circle, and, setting his book down, he took hold of his arms and positioned him just over an intersection of several chalk lines.

"Just there—good."

"And I just have to be still?"

Arthur looked up at his face, and seeing that Alfred was starting to look a little worried, he gave him a reassuring smile. "Yes," he said. "It doesn't have to be perfectly still, but it would be best if you didn't move your feet from that spot."

Alfred nodded, but the distress that was evident on his face only became worse, and it did nothing for Arthur's own nervousness.

"You don't have to do this, Alfred," he said quietly (though he had no idea what he would do without him), but Alfred pulled away from his grasp and took hold of his hands instead. The indistinct pressure was comforting, so Arthur squeezed back, hoping to return the favor.

"No, I trust you," Alfred said. "It's just… what happens after this?"

"Well, I'll start the incantation, there will be some light, and—if all goes well—I'll return to normal, and you'll be unaffected."

Alfred frowned at him. "I meant after the spell."

Three minutes to go. They really needed to hurry, and Arthur was _not_ prepared for this conversation yet… but then Alfred had that awful look on his face…

Arthur looked down between them at the toes of their shoes. He knew that he wouldn't likely be able to follow through with his plan if he had to look the man in front of him in the eye while he told him, even if it were for his own good.

"I… Well, I just thought I'd be on my way," he said, and Alfred's grip on his hands tightened considerably. He ignored it and pressed on. "Between taking care of poor Madeleine, your father's business, and your medical education… I imagine I'd only be a nuisance. I'll make sure that you're compensated for my rent, so to speak, and then I'll just go."

"W-what?" Alfred stammered, and Arthur risked a glance up at his face. He wished he hadn't. "But… I mean… Where will you go?"

"I'll sort something out," he said.

Two minutes left.

"But—but… You don't have to!"

"Don't be silly, Alfred. I can't just stay here."

"And why not?"

Arthur let out a frustrated noise. One minute, thirty seconds. "Be_cause_, Alfred," he said, voice pleading. This was hard enough already… Why couldn't Alfred just accept it? "You don't need me here!"

He saw the almost angry look on Alfred's face, and he heard it when Alfred practically growled, "The hell I don't," but when Alfred suddenly grabbed ahold of him, pulled him flush against his chest, and buried his face in his neck, it took several long moments for Arthur to understand just what had happened. Once he did, he could only stand there like… like the doll he was.

"You don't have to go," Alfred breathed against his porcelain ear, and Arthur could only faintly feel the warmth and the flutter of his hair. "I don't want you to. Please, Arthur. Don't go."

He couldn't bring himself to move… only to look over at the clock again. 21 seconds, 20, 19… They were running out of time if Arthur wanted to make this happen—

And he suddenly realized that he did. He wanted it like he had never wanted anything in his life. Not his title, not his family's respect—nothing. He'd never dared to consider the possibility that Alfred was giving him right now, but now that he had…

Alfred let out a muffled _oof_ as Arthur wrapped his arms around him with a little more force than he had intended, but then Alfred was squeezing back harder, pressing his cheek against Arthur's and threading fingers into his hair at the back of his head—but Arthur wanted to _feel _it. Not just the barely-there pressure against porcelain, or the echo of Alfred's heart beating against his hollow chest… He wanted to feel his own pounding back, and for Alfred to feel it as well.

Ten seconds to go.

"I'm not going anywhere, Alfred. Now… stand still," he said, determination steeling his voice, and began the incantation.

* * *

><p><em>One year later<em>

The first warm, sunny morning of 1865 found Alfred dusting off wicker furniture in his still relatively new and much larger garden, digging through cupboards for tablecloths and seat cushions, poking his head into the kitchen every few minutes to make sure breakfast wasn't burning, and finally, carrying a life-sized porcelain doll out to his little outdoor dining setup and propping it up on one of the chairs.

"Good morning, Freddie," came a quiet voice from the back door, and Alfred turned to find Madeleine watching him with an amused smile. "What's all this?"

"Breakfast!" he said, gesturing at the table. "I thought it'd be nice since it's so warm, and you're finally up on your feet—but don't think I didn't notice that you didn't wait on me to help you down the stairs, missy."

Madeleine just gave him a coy little grin and held out her hand for help across the garden. "Please forgive me, Dr. Jones," she said as she took Alfred's elbow, and he couldn't resist the urge to smile back as he walked her to the table.

"Well… maybe just this once," he said conspiratorially.

While he knelt beside her chair and tucked a blanket in around her legs, she reached over and straightened the doll's dress, smoothing a wrinkle and adjusting the skirt. "I do like this new dress," she mused. "I think it looks lovely on Lily. Don't you?"

Alfred nodded, patting her knee as he stood, and said, "Sure do," but before he could get too far, Madeleine stopped him with another question.

"Alfred," she began, not looking away from her doll, "I was wondering… Do you ever miss Artie?"

It took a few long moments for Alfred to respond, but when he did, it was with another question: "What do you mean, sweetie?"

"Well, it's just that when I went back to school after Christmas before last, I was sad that I couldn't take Lily with me, and I'd only just gotten her. But you had Artie for much longer, and you were by yourself at home for a long time, so I thought that maybe you would miss him even more."

Alfred knelt down to her eye level again and reached out to brush a stray curl back behind her ear. "You know, I sort of do sometimes," he said, thoughtful, "but you know what? I'm also happy for Artie, since he's happier where he is… at least, I certainly hope he is. And… well, if the Fairy Queen hadn't put that curse on him, and he hadn't left to find his One True Love—" he paused at the sound of someone pointedly clearing his voice from the back door "—then we wouldn't have Arthur with us now!"

He finished with a grand gesture towards the house, and Madeleine turned to smile at the man in question, standing on the steps with an enormous tray of slightly (only very slightly, thank you) burnt breakfast, and one very thick eyebrow raised.

"Charming," Arthur grumbled.

When he was through unloading his tray at the table (and after the sharp kick to Alfred's shin), he was about to turn and go back for what was left in the kitchen, but he stopped when he felt a pair of thin little arms wrap around his waist.

"I'm glad we have you, Arthur," Madeleine said, looking up at him, and he couldn't help but lean down and leave a kiss on top of her head.

"And I couldn't imagine being anywhere else, darling," he breathed into her hair.

Alfred watched the exchange with a smile that threatened to split his face in two, and when Madeleine let go of Arthur, he quickly stood up and said, "Hey—let me help you with the rest."

The two of them walked casually back inside, but as soon as the door closed behind them, Alfred tossed the tray to the counter, pushed him against the wall, and pressed their lips together, soft and sweet and loving, but pulling away far sooner than Arthur felt was necessary—of course, he wasn't sure that he'd ever get enough.

(After a year of being back to flesh and blood, all of those once-foreign physical sensations and reactions were nowhere near as overwhelming as they had been at first, but it seemed that Alfred would always be able to leave him reeling… He still vividly remembered the first time he had really, actually touched him, not two seconds after the spell was complete, lifting him off the ground, kissing him like his life depended on it, and leaving him a shaking, sobbing—but overjoyed—mess from the overstimulation.)

"You," Alfred mumbled against his mouth, capturing his lips again, "just… _you_—" another, firmer kiss "—damnit…"

"Eloquent as—_mmfph_—usual, love…"

"Oh, shut up."

Arthur grinned as Alfred moved to his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, both eyelids, peppering his whole face and coming back to his lips, but when he started pulling at his high collar for easier access to his neck, Arthur spoke up. "I'd hate to suggest that I'm not thoroughly enjoying this, because I am," he said, "but aren't we supposed to be getting something?"

"Hm?"

"Breakfast? For your sister who is outside waiting, and who is also steadily becoming a rather intelligent little girl…"

Alfred gave him an annoyed, half-hearted scowl (incidentally, the one he used when he knew that Arthur was right about something) but kissed him once more anyway, muttered something about _just you wait_ and _tonight_, and dragged him into the kitchen to finish plating the giant stack of waffles next to the stove.

Things were far from perfect in the Kirkland-Jones-Williams household: money was still tight after the move from the city to the small village where they now resided, Madeleine's health was improving but still unreliable, and arguments between Alfred and Arthur were fairly frequent. The strain of keeping the actual nature of their relationship to themselves while trying to find quality time to spend together was a real problem, especially with Madeleine there in the house and the nosy women of the village interested in why the handsome young doctor or that quiet but rather striking accountant hadn't found themselves wives yet.

But despite all this, Arthur found that he was happy, and that things were gradually getting better. Eventually they would settle in. Bills would be paid, new patients would be seen, and Arthur would find more clients in need of financial advisement. Madeleine would heal, and she had already expressed a desire to go back to Lille for school once she was better (much to Alfred's distress). They hadn't yet encountered an issue they couldn't work through, even if it took a great deal of time (as some of them had), and someday, the neighbors would get used to Dr. Jones and Mr. Kirkland, the pair of perpetual bachelors that just happened to enjoy each other's company enough to live together. The lovely young ladies in town looking to be the wife of a doctor would give up and move on, or else they would find themselves on the receiving end of a curse—not that Arthur had considered it. … Much.

For now, though, it was manageable at its very worst, and as for its best…

Alfred stopped at the back door for one last, quick kiss and a whispered _Love ya, sweetheart_ before heading back outside, and Arthur stood there for a moment, watching him present a plate of butter and syrup covered waffles to Madeleine with a flourish while she smiled and pulled him down for a hug.

Arthur couldn't really imagine things being better, not with the two of them turning back to wave him out to the table, matching grins on their faces. But he supposed that if he couldn't have imagined this life for himself a year ago, or how being in such a state would make him happier than he had ever believed he could be, then perhaps he would just have to wait to see for himself what was possible.


End file.
